


A Sip of Whiskey

by QueenOfGothamCity



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Past Domestic Violence, Smut, Widowed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfGothamCity/pseuds/QueenOfGothamCity
Summary: The reader is Agent Malibu. Waking up in the medical bay of the Statesman headquarters after a head shot wound, she has a lot of questions for those around her as well as herself. She has major decisions to make about her place and the direction she wants to move in after a major loss. Will she be able to manage the emotional turmoil on her own or will there be a warm stranger to reach out to?
Relationships: Jack | Whiskey (Kingsman) & Reader, Jack | Whiskey (Kingsman)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	1. Welcome Home, Agent

**Author's Note:**

> Although there's backstory details and an agent name, this is a third person Agent Whiskey (from Kingsman: The Golden Circle) x f!reader story. I'm just not a fan of writing in second person. :/  
> But I hope it's enjoyed nonetheless.  
> Photos credited to their owners! :)  
> Crossposted with other sites.

Malibu opens her eyes slowly, the black centers constricting to the size of pinpricks in response to the blinding brightness. She can barely make out the bright white ceiling that the blazing fluorescent tube lights are attached to. Just as slow as her vision’s attempt at clearing, her senses begin to return. Whatever room she is in smells extremely clean and sanitized… clinical almost. Where was she…? She moves to sit up from her reclined position, paper crinkling underneath her weak body but a hand stops her.

“Easy, agent.” A soft voice says, keeping her held down.

Blinking quickly, she catches sight of a woman above her. The woman was on the thinner side, skin a beautiful dark color, hair even darker and sticking out in different directions slightly. She notices how the woman is wearing scrubs and a white lab coat. A doctor, maybe? “Where am I…?” Malibu croaks in a hoarse voice, head pounding painfully.

“You’re in the medical bay of the Statesman headquarters in Kentucky.” She says quietly, “My name is Ginger Ale. You were transferred here from London by the Kingsman agency after you received a head shot wound while out in the field.”

“I.. don’t remember..”

“That’s okay. It’s hard to remember anything after an injury like that.” Ginger helps her sit up on the examination table. “Thankfully we were able to identify your original location from your Statesman hat. Incredible idea to keep that despite your transfer to Kingsman, by the way.”

“Thank… you…?”

“I know you’re confused right now. Don’t worry. We contacted the Los Angeles offices where you used to be stationed when you were with us and they’re going to send us your files.” Ginger gives her patient an encouraging smile. “Then we’ll see if there's anything in there that will help us jog your memory, alright?” When she sees the young woman nod, she continues. “In the meantime, to help you have some grounding about yourself, you’re Agent Malibu, you worked for Statesman six years ago before you transferred to London to work for Kingsman.”

Malibu furrows her eyebrows. “Okay…” She states as if she doesn’t believe her. “Doing what?”

“You’re a field agent for our secret service.” This doctor called Ginger states.

“A field agent? That’s ridiculous honestly.” She shakes her head. “Sorry.” She hops off the examination table. “I find it hard to believe I was ever a secret service agent.”

“Not just a secret service agent! One of the best on the entire West Coast as the LA office states.”

“That has to be the biggest crock of-” Malibu begins but she’s cut off by the med bay door being pushed open.

A tall man, dressed in a white button up and a disturbing amount of denim walks into the room, a folder in one hand, his other tucked into his jeans pocket. “Ginger, I brought ya the files sent over from LA.” He holds them out to the woman.

“Thank you, Tequila.” Ginger smiles up at him as she takes the folder from his grasp.

“Tequila…” Their injured party mutters in a perplexed tone.

“Ah,” Ginger gestures to the man, “Malibu, this is Agent Tequila. Another one of our field agents.”

“Pleasure to meet ‘cha ma’am.” Tequila tilts his light tan Stetson cowboy hat and Malibu scrunches her nose slightly at the extremely prominent Southern accent. _God. Cowboys._

“Right.” She raises her eyebrow and looks at Ginger when she holds the manila folder out to her in turn. She takes it slowly.

“See if anything in here will help you remember who you are.” Ginger smiles, her look ever encouraging.

Malibu opens the folder, sifting through the papers and photographs. She sees her agent file from Los Angeles, pictures of what looks like a younger her with a couple that may be her parents, documents from her training. But she doesn’t remember any of it. Towards the bottom of the stack is a marriage certificate, containing what she supposes is her signature alongside another, more masculine looking one. Underneath this document is a picture of her in a long white dress, kissing a dashing gentleman in a tuxedo, the two of them surrounded by people.

And suddenly it feels as if she’s been shot. Again. The papers spill from her hands as her vision is clouded with memories flooding her brain at warp speed. Chest heaving aggressively with her rapid pants, she scrambles to brace herself on something. Stumbling backwards, she plants her hand on the examination table, only to have it slip on that damn crinkly paper, causing her to fall on her ass on the floor covered in hard tile. She supports herself with her hands behind her, her breathing very quickly approaching a shift from panting to hyperventilating.

“Tequila!” Ginger says, moving quickly to take hold of the young woman’s arms. But anything they say is lost to the colossal flood blocking her senses.

“C’mon now, doll.” Tequila says, trying to gain her attention.

Malibu dry heaves as she remembers everything. “Thomas!” She cries out, the memory of watching her husband and partner in Kingsman be riddled with shots right before her very eyes all over again. And she remembers how it was all her fault, how she blew their cover during their mission by mistake, how he had put himself in front of her to protect her. She sees it again. The way he throws his body before her and accepts the hail of bullets instead of her. “TOM.” She screams, the high pitched panic in her voice obvious. The hot tears that rain from her eyes remind her of when she was showered with his blood on that day, causing her to almost throw up.

“Agent Malibu!” Ginger shouts over her panic, drawing the woman from her episode. She knows she has her focus when her fear blown pupils reach her face. “You’re not in France anymore. You’re here at Statesman in Kentucky.”

“Tom. Where’s Tom? I have to find him.” She tries to force her shaking body to stand, her voice weak and desperate.

“Your partner is gone, Malibu.. I’m sorry but the body was not able to be recovered..” Ginger says softly, resting her hand on Malibu’s elbow to keep her from moving so aggressively. “Your handler agent focused on getting you out and stable enough for transport to the United States..”

Malibu hangs her head, body shuddering with her sobs. Not only is it her fault he’s gone, it’s her fault that he won’t be able to be buried properly. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. One stupid slip in the field and she had her whole world ripped away from her.

“You’ve been through a lot, agent…” With Tequila’s assistance, Ginger helps Malibu back onto the exam table. “You’ll stay here in the med bay, receiving physical and psychological treatment until you feel you’re ready to make a decision as to what you want to do. Whether you want to stay with Kingsman or return to Statesman.”

Staring at the floor, she couldn’t believe what Ginger was saying. After everything she’s been through and they’re still expecting her to operate as an agent. She won’t. She can’t. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be the same.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malibu keeps her elbows on her knees as she listens to the lead Statesman psychologist, Dr.Tonic, speak to her. But it just sounds like a boring buzz in the background of her mind. “I’m not returning to the field.” She mutters at the usual point in his spiel.

“Then why don’t you go into the reserves? So that you’re with Statesman but they only send you out if absolutely needed.” He suggests.

She just shakes her head, not lifting her gaze from where it’s trained on the floor. She would focus on the carpet but at this point, after having sat on this couch three times a week since she woke up two months ago, she has the design memorized.

“Well..” He reads over the details of her file again, “This says before you became a field agent on the West Coast, you worked in both the automotive bay and the aircraft hangar for an extensive period of time. Why don’t we see if there’s any openings in the mechanics department here in the Kentucky offices?”

It’s at this new development of their normally routine conversation that she looks up. Maybe this was something she could do. She always enjoyed working in the shops. “Do you think they’d let me?” She sits up further, finally feeling like she has a spark of light. Although small and barely flickering, it’s there.

“I’m sure they would.” Tonic smiles, seeing her form and emotional state perk up slightly. “I’ll have Ginger come in and we can see about setting up a meeting for you with Champ, our director, to discuss available positions with him.” He stands from his arm chairs, setting his notebook and Malibu’s files on the coffee table as he goes. Once he walks over to his desk, he lifts his landline phone off its cradle, the cord following his movements. He dials Ginger’s extension, having a brief hushed conversation that Malibu can hardly keep up with. Within moments of Tonic hanging up their call, Ginger is entering the room, her trip short as she was only located on the other side of the med bay today.

“Malibu! Tonic tells me you’re thinking about going into the mechanics department!” The spritely woman says in excitement of the prospect of mental progress, making her flinch slightly. “Come on! We’ll go talk with Champ right now!” She holds her hands out, helping the agent out of her seat. “Thanks Tonic!” She calls behind her shoulder as she walks her out of the room.

“Don’t I need a meeting?... Or an… an appointment or something?...” Malibu says softly.

“This is such a major development for you, we’re not going to wait a moment!” Ginger enthuses as they enter the elevator. She presses the button for the top floor. “If Champ is upset, I’ll take the heat of course. If it makes it so you can begin to get back into the swing of things and begin to heal, it will be worth it.” Once they reach their destination, they approach the conference room at the end of the hall, entering through the double doors with Ginger leading the way. “Champ!” She says happily

Champ, the director of Statesman, looks up from the rest of the empty table, large glasses settled comfortably on his face, displaying that he is in a digital meeting with an invisible number of other agents and instantly, Malibu shrinks back behind Ginger, feeling guilty for their interruption of his business with something as trivial as her employment request. “Yes Ginger?” He smiles welcomingly nonetheless, gesturing for them to enter the room.

“Champ, this is Agent Malibu!” Ginger pulls the young woman in by her arm, despite her trying to keep her feet planted firmly.

“Ginger, I don’t want to bother him…” She whispers, barely audible.

“Ah!” Champ stands up, laughing heartily , “Our little snowbird!”

“W-What?...” She looks at their director, literally their boss.

“Snowbird. Because you migrated from us to Kingsman and back again, honey.” He explains gently, assuming that she’s not understanding because of her previous injury clouding her mind. “That headshot sure did throw you for a loop, didn’t it? Take a seat, darlin’.” He holds his hand out to the empty seat to his left and she slowly sinks into it, knowing that he had her take that seat because all of the other ones are probably claimed by the digital projections of the agents in the other offices that Champ sees behind his glasses. “So what can I do for you two?” He looks at Ginger when Malibu doesn’t speak, her nerves causing her to clam up quickly.

“Well sir, Malibu does not want to return to the field right away.”

“Ever.” The agent in question interjects.

“Right… um… ever..” Ginger continues, “So she would like to return to her roots in the company instead. We were just wondering if we had any positions available in either the automotive bay or the hangar.”

“Well let me look, ladies.” He chuckles softly as he sits back down in his chair at the head of the conference table, searching the employment positions by scrolling through the list in the lenses of his glasses.

Malibu watches as he focuses on the lenses, seeing him turn slightly to the empty chair to his right.

“Ah. Thank you, Whiskey.” Champ nods slightly to the empty chair, causing Malibu to blink at the space in confusion. She remembers enough about her times at Statesman, that she knows how their meetings operate. She’s sure he can see whichever agent he’s speaking to but she neither sees nor has ever heard of an Agent Whiskey. But whoever they are clearly gave Champ the information that he needed as he returns his attention to her once more. “We’re going to be havin’ an automotive bay foreman position openin’ up as one of ours is going to be transferrin’ to another office. Seein’ as you’ve worked in the department before, we’ll do some workin’ tests and see if you can handle the advanced position. If you’ll accept the test of course.”

Malibu nods quickly, sitting forward in her chair. “Yes.” She says eagerly, “Yes, I’ll do the test.”

“Then there we go.” He claps his hands together. “Ginger will set up the work test and we’ll go from there. Once you’re settled in the shop, you can focus on healing that little snowbird heart of yours, darlin’ and we’ll return to the topic of your field work in due time.” He holds his hand out to her which she takes, a bit of timidness gracing her features at the special attention she’s receiving from such a higher up. “Welcome home, Agent Malibu. We’re all thrilled to have you back with Statesman. Especially in one piece.” He smiles at her widely, “Now don’t go runnin’ out on us again, ya hear me?”

Malibu nods quickly for a second time. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He booms happily, “Now go on outta here. Go with Ginger there and she’ll show you the automotive shops.” He lets her hand go after a light squeeze and she raises from her chair, hurrying back over to the entry doors.

“I told you it would be okay.” Ginger whispers to her new found acquaintance as she pulls the doors shut behind them.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malibu leans against the old beater pickup truck that used to be driven around the distillery property, having finished her test, wiping her filthy, greasy hands on a shop rag. Since the old girl didn’t run anymore, her test had been to at least get it started again. She looks up when she hears Ginger call out to her, approaching her work bay, Tequila and Champ in tow.

“If she could get this thing runnin’ again, I’ll go back to the rodeo. I swear to the good Lord above.” Tequila says as he inspects under the popped hood, as if he has any knowledge about what the bits and bobs do.

“Better get your clown makeup on then.” She holds the keys up between two fingers, tone confident and casual. She knows that mentally and emotionally, she’s been put through one hell of a ringer but she also knows that working with her hands is what she’s done since she was old enough for her father to put a wrench in her grasp. So this is the one place on the whole headquarters property that she felt at ease in.

“Now this will be interesting.” Champ chuckles quietly to Ginger.

Tequila takes the keys from her, a smug smirk on his face as per the usual. Going to the open driver’s side door, he jams the key in the ignition, giving it a crank.

But the truck doesn’t start.

“HA!” Tequila comes back out of the cab. “I knew it wouldn’t start.”

A pair of cowboy boots can be heard approaching the truck and the group from behind before the owner of the steps speaks up.

“Push the clutch in, dumbass.” A deep, baritone voice states simply.

Moving off from the side of the truck, Malibu catches sight of the newcomer as he slides into the driver's seat of the pickup. A dark Stetson hat and leather jacket, giant aviator sunglasses, an extremely prominent mustache. _Another cowboy_. She very quickly realizes that her time away made her forget how many cowboys were littered amongst the agents of Statesman. Apparently especially here in a godforsaken state like Kentucky. After spending most of her life in the heart of Los Angeles, California, she realizes she has not missed much here in the country.

This agent is the next to tempt her fate by twisting the key in the ignition.

Clearly he knows his way around a clutch enough though because on the first turn, the engine comes to life with a fierce roar.

Champ steps closer as the truck comes to a deep rumble of an idle. “Well I’ll be damned.” He says, putting his hands on his hips, watching as her mystery agent tests the headlights and windshield wipers. “What did you do to this thing, snowbird?”

She looks up at him, pulling her gaze away from the man sitting in the truck cab.“I took out the old engine and dropped a big block in it.” It was her turn to plaster a smug look on her face. “I also dropped the automatic transmission out of it and made it a manual, Just for the hell of it.”

“What made you decide to do that?”

“Just because I knew I could.”

“But I can’t drive a stick!” Tequila says, his tone reflecting his displeasure at this turn of events.

“And that made the hard work of it that much sweeter.” She smiles up at him, one hand on the hip of her dark grey mechanics jumpsuit.

“She’s a fiery little thing when she's operatin’ on all cylinders, isn’t she?” Champ grins down at the young woman. “You’ve got the foreman position, darlin’.”

“But she just replaced the engine. She cheated.” Tequila argues with Champ’s decision.

“The deal was she got it runnin’. She was never told how she had to do it.” Their director points out simply. “And don’t act like completely replacing an engine is an easy feat.”

“Especially when going from a small block to a big..” Malibu grumbles as she crosses her arms. She looks back when the driver's side door of the cab is closed.

"Agent Malibu, I'd like ya to meet Agent Whiskey." Champ holds a hand out towards the agent who had been the one to start the truck.

 _Ah_. So this is Whiskey, the agent Champ spoke to the day she and Ginger so rudely interrupted.

"Nice to meet you, Whiskey." She holds her hand out to shake his.

Whiskey takes her hand, lifting it to press his lips lightly to it, his mustache tickling her skin. "Pleasure is all mine, darlin'." He drawls out.

Malibu forgets to filter her facial expressions for a split second and very briefly a scrunched nose cringe graces her face before she wipes it away. God. Everything about this cowboy shtick that every man in town has, with the Stetsons and the accents and the pet names, was really starting to get her hacked off. They can't ever seem to just use her name. _Doll. Darlin. Sweetheart. Sugar._ "Call me Malibu, please." She pulls her hand away from his lips before turning back to Champ. "I'd like to thank you for giving me the position, sir. I'll make sure to prove my worth." She shakes her boss' hand firmly.

"I have no doubt that ya will, snowbird." Champ smiles widely down at her, shaking her hand in return. "Your first project when you come in tomorrow will be Whiskey's Ford Bronco. It needs a tune up since it's been sitting in storage while he's been in New York."

"Yes, sir."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malibu looks up from her magazine as she hears echoing footsteps approaching her in the automotive bay. If it wasn't for the fact that she can see her late night intruder from her vantage point of the chair at the metal desk, she'd be reaching for the biggest wrench she could use as a weapon. She looks past her propped up feet to the cowboy holding two beers in his hand.

"Burning the midnight oil?" Whiskey asks, a grin on his lips.

"Draining it, actually." She looks over at where his Bronco is sitting on the car lift, the old oil dripping out of it into a drip pan on the concrete ground. She looks back to him when he holds out one of the drinks. "Thanks." She takes it from him slowly after closing her Entertainment Weekly in her lap. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" She twists the bottle cap open.

"Just thought'cha might like some company, sugar." He leans against the edge of the desk.

She hides her cringe at the pet name behind her beer bottle as she drinks from it. "I see. Well, unfortunately I'm not exactly exciting to be around as you can probably tell." She tosses her magazine onto the desk, lifting her feet down to the floor. “So what do you actually need?” She sets the bottle down before heading over to the Bronco as the oil finishes draining. Picking the old filter off the ground where she set it earlier, she tosses it into the plastic shop trash can.

“It’s just that Ginger told me you’ve never been here at the headquarters or even in Kentucky so I thought I would show you the sights sometime.” Whiskey watches her go over to the workbench, unpacking the new filter from its packaging box. “You know, the best views… best places for dinner.. and dancing..”

She raises her head slowly at his words, staring at the pegboard filled with tools on the wall. _There it is._ She knew exactly where this was going to be heading. "I'm okay. Thanks though." She states simply as she keeps her gaze on the tools.

"Now I know what you're thinking." He states, standing up from his leaned position. "It's not like that, darlin'. I'm just trying to be hospitable. I know you lost a lot. I just want you know I'm here if you need someone to-"

Malibu turns around quickly to look at Whiskey. "Listen up, _cowboy_." She snaps at him, the sarcasm laced heavily in the name, "No offense, but whatever your intentions are…. romance, a quick fuck, or even some bullshit Southern hospitality, I'm really not interested." She grabs the filter and heads back over to the lift. "Thanks for the beer though. Now if you could just go now, please. Your Bronco will be done by dawn." She looks at the undercarriage of the car but doesn't really see it as she listens to his footsteps fade away and the side door of the garage closes. As the midnight silence settles back into the air, she almost feels bad for jumping on him so quickly while she begins installing the new filter. Almost. She knows that he knows her grief. Everyone seems to know the story of the snowbird apparently. So if he can't understand the fact that her husband only died two months ago, that's his problem not hers. Suddenly she throws the tool clutched tightly in her hand. She hates how this man already, after a single day, seems to be acting as a flint rock shaving sparks towards what is left of the tiny pile of kindling inside her soul. Especially when she had been so ready to drown it in a drink and keep it snuffed.

Returning to her desk to pick up her beer, she sees that next to the bottle, he's placed his business card for her to find. Scribbled underneath the obvious landline digits is also a cell number. As she stares at the inked figures, she feels like this agent is both the flammable Whiskey and the lit match to bring her heart back to a blazing inferno.


	2. A Little Warmth

Malibu puts her full strength into the leverage of her prybar, hands wrapped tightly around the bright orange handle. She grunts softly, trying to wiggle the bar where it’s placed inside the dented door of the car that was damaged in a mission. “God damn you.” She groans as she begins pulling on the prybar yet again. Just as she almost decides to give up and try a different method, a voice booms through the garage, echoing off the walls and bouncing back again.

“Mornin’, darlin’!” Whiskey’s voice reverberates through the bay.

She’s so startled by the abrupt, loud voice revealing his just as sudden presence, her hands slip on the handle of her tool, the bar slipping from the dented door and jerking back, her pulling direction causing her to accidentally smack herself in the mouth. “Fuck!” She curses, dropping the tool to the floor where it releases a loud metallic clang on the concrete. She puts a hand to her mouth, feeling her hot blood gushing from her busted bottom lip and around her fingers. “Ouch…”

“Are ya alright?” Whiskey sets the cups of coffee he was carrying down onto the tool bench. He pulls a handkerchief out of his front blue jeans pocket.

“God you scared the shit out of me…”

He gently puts the cloth to her lip, trying to help her clean up the blood. “I didn’t mean to frighten ya, sugar..” He says quietly now that he’s in such close proximity to her.

She notices how close his form is and how his free hand is holding her chin as he cleans her lip. Her body freezes slightly. Although she’s become more accustomed to his presence over the last six weeks, she’s still not fully used to how charming he tries to be. “I got it.. Thanks…” She takes over his hold, keeping his handkerchief pressed to her mouth until the bleeding subsides. She turns, bending over to look in the side view mirror of the damaged Dodge Avenger, grimacing at how red and swollen her bottom lip is, light purple bruising already beginning to blossom over her chin. “Dammit… That looks terrible.”

Whiskey rakes his gaze over her bent form, her ass facing his own body where he had been standing as he tried to tend to her. “Your mouth still looks as good as ever to me, sweetheart.”

Her gaze flickers from her busted lip to look at his face in the mirror, seeing it over her shoulder and past her angled back. She’s suddenly flushed with how provocative their position and his statement are and stands straight quickly. She releases a noise of slight unease under her breath. “..ugh…” She would pick her tool up off ground but she really is not trying to bend over in front of him again. “Why are you here, Whiskey?” She holds his handkerchief out to him to return it. “Sorry about the blood, by the way, I guess.”

“My fault.” He smiles slightly, his aura appearing more dejected than before as he takes back the small bit of fabric. “I just brought ya coffee to say I’m sorry for smashing up the car…” He picks her cup off of the bench and holds it out to her to back up his reasoning for yet again entering her domain.

Raising an eyebrow in suspicion, Malibu takes the cup from him slowly. She glimpses at the order writing on the side. “You remembered how I take my coffee?”

“Wouldn’t be as good of an apology if it wasn’t something that’cha like now would it, darlin’?” He drawls out as he leans an elbow on the trunk of the car, making quick work of picking his self-esteem up from around his boots. A flash of neon orange brings his eyes to the ground. “Let me get that for ya.” He moves past her, picking the prybar up off the floor.

As he’s focused on something other than her for once, she allows her curiosity to be piqued slightly, grazing her eyes over how the material of his dark blue jeans strain against his bent over reach. God, was she a hypocrite or what? She looks away when he straightens back up.

“Would ya like some help? I saw ya were strugglin’.”

“That’s not necessary.” She goes to reach for the tool but stops when he begins to shed his black-brown leather jacket.

**_‘Good Lord.’_ **

It’s like she’s at war with herself, trying to keep her eyes on his face. Shuffling out of the way as he insists on lending a hand, she watches him slot the steel bar into place in the crunched door. She feels the cheap plastic of the coffee cup lid crack under her tensed bite as her eyes lock onto the way his white t-shirt strains against his torso and broad shoulders. She’s surprised that the fabric of the sleeves aren’t ripping under the flex of his biceps as he pushes on the tool, going in the opposite direction she had been working the metal. Traveling the length of his arms, her nostrils flare and her pupils widen at the sight of his hands holding onto the handle, his muscles and veins more pronounced.

**_‘Sweet eight pound, six ounce baby Jesus.’_ **

And with one very hard push and a strangely risqué grunt, he pops the concave door open. She scrambles to keep a hold on her nearly dropped cup at his released sound.

**_‘Someone give me mercy.’_ **

“There ya go, darlin’.” He holds a hand out in presentation of his handiwork.

Nodding quickly, she turns away from him to pretend to look for something on the tool bench, instead low key pulling the broken pieces of the plastic lid off of her tongue. She flicks them away. “Um.. thanks for the help, Whiskey..” She mutters lowly, “I won’t keep you any longer..”

“Ah, I got nowhere to be today…” He says dismissively. He steps up beside her, hooking the prybar into its place on the pegboard. “Since this is my blunder, why don’t I help fix it? It’s the least I can do after my stupidity… and for bustin’ ya lip.” He winks at her, feeling a ping of encouragement when he sees a small smile grace her damaged mouth.

She hesitates, weighing his offer for a moment. “Yeah.. okay…” She nods a bit, causing his own smile to appear.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I was talking with Champ a few days ago…” Whiskey says quietly as he sits on the rolling creeper after cracking open their beer bottles. “About you…”

“Me..” Malibu sighs softly. It seems like she’s going to be the topic of conversation for a lot of people, for a long time.

“About your pops specifically..”

She sinks into the one folding chair in the shop, listening to the industrial heaters hum in the background. “My dad..?” She looks over at him, the chill of her bottle biting into her hand as she neglects the foaming liquid inside of it.

“Agent Morgan, right?” He sips from his own bottle, hoping she’ll know she can stop him at any point if she feels he’s being too nosy..

“Captain Morgan.” She smiles slightly, looking down towards her beer. “You know… he worked endlessly to gain that title just to make that joke…” She swirls the alcohol inside the neck of the glass.

“I don’t mean to pry, darlin’..”

“It’s okay…” She whispers.

There’s a brief stretch of silence as he considers what could be his next step. He had read the files. The fact that her father died when she was a teenager. The technicalities of the accident and the investigation. Her relocation. Her entering the Statesman agency to follow in her father’s footsteps. But he wanted to hear her side. Without the official report language. “What do ya remember about your pops?”

Malibu doesn’t answer for a long time, obviously contemplating her words carefully. “Everything...” She murmurs quietly. She smiles softly as the memories return to the forefront of her mind. She raises her eyes to his face. “I remember, once he left the Statesman agency, he was in the shop all day, turning wrenches to make a living as a single father… It was hard after mom ran out when I was three. I was too young to remember her... But I remember everything about my father.. How hard he worked. How much he tried to be there for me…” She leans back in her chair, raising the beer towards her lips but she stops before taking a drink as a certain memory stands out the most. “Once he even wore a dress and took me into the mother-daughter day at school when I was nine.”

His chuckle bubbles out from inside of him at the idea of something like that. “Now that sounds like a story for sure, darlin’.” Using his booted feet to pull himself, he rolls forward on the creeper so he’s closer to her. He looks up at her from his lower position to prompt her to continue.

“But he wasn’t just good to me, you know…” She sets the beer down after taking a drink. “He used to um… He would have a cookout every Sunday after church.. For anyone. Anyone in the neighborhood.. But there was a catch.” She holds up a finger to promote emphasis. “If you didn’t go to church, you didn’t get any barbecue..” She smiles softly, “He took care of everyone.. Anyone who needed it..” Her story tapers off as she looks away from him. Flipping her phone over on the desk, she’s stunned by the time. “I can’t believe how late it is! We should probably head out..”

Whiskey can tell that she’s reached a point where she didn’t want to talk about her past any longer and decides to drop it for the night. “That’s probably not a bad idea, darlin’. I’m just about ready for the weekend.” He stands up, heading over to the power boards, beginning to shut down the machinery and the shop heaters.

“I’m sorry I took up your Friday night. I know I’m not exactly a riot to be around.”

“I enjoyed myself, to be honest.” He walks over to the shop door with her, hitting the lights as they step out.

Malibu’s breath is sharp at the harsh contrast between the heated shop and the freezing temperature outside. “I apparently should have taken the weather report seriously…” She breathes in a shivering voice as she wraps her bare arms around herself. “Jesus. It hardly ever got this cold out west…” She breathes into her hands to warm them as the two of them begin their walk through the parking lot. Suddenly, she’s enveloped by the warmth and smell of leather.

“Can’t have the Statesman snowbird getting _too_ cold now, can we?” He wraps his leather jacket around her, hooking the coat onto her shoulders.

Chewing her lip slightly, she grabs onto the edges, pulling it tighter around herself, shielding herself from the cold. “Are you sure?” At his insistence, she nods slightly. “I’ll bring it back on Monday… Well.. goodnight, Whiskey..”

“Night, darlin’.” He brings his hand to the brim of his hat, tilting his head towards her slightly. As he watches her walk away from him, he can’t help but smile slightly when he sees her tuck her nose into the collar of his coat. But it wipes away when she continues past the car of the office night guard, the last car in the lot. “Wait just a minute now!” He calls out to her.

Malibu half turns, looking back at him. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you’re walkin’ home.”

“I walked in this morning, so I don’t have my car. Besides, it’s not far.” She can’t describe the feeling that suddenly erupts within her in response to how his fingers do a quick, beckoning curl.

Whiskey points at the ground in front of him. “Bring that little rump back here, doll. I’ll be a man damned to hell if I let a lady walk home at midnight in below freezing temperatures.” He feels his chest warm at the smile that paints itself on her face.

“Always trying to be the Southern gentleman aren’t you?” She teases as she returns to him, causing a grin to break out under that damn mustache.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Here you are, sweetheart’.” Whiskey pulls his truck up to the address Malibu had given him, the gravel of the long driveway crunching under his large tires as he parks in front of the three bay garage of the rented house.

“You really didn’t have to drive me home.. But thank you.” She looks up at him, his face illuminated by the flood light of the garage coming through the windshield, the glow cool white and bright.

“Anytime…”

“Goodnight, Whiskey..” She goes to pick her purse up off the floorboard, stopping when he speaks again.

“It’s Jack…”

“What?” She flutters her gaze back to him.

“My name is Jack.”

Malibu is thrown by his release of information, surprised that he sees her as someone he could be so close with to give her his actual name instead of just his secret agent title. “Jack…”

He smiles at the way his name falls from her tongue. “I’ll see ya Monday..”

She nods a bit and grabs onto the handle, popping open the door. Just as she sets one steel toe booted foot down on the gravel, she stops abruptly. “Jack?...”

“Yes, darlin’?” He stops his movement that he had made to shift from park to drive.

She twists slightly, looking over her shoulder at him. “Don’t read too much into this, cowboy, but... would you wanna come in for a drink?”

“Are ya sure?” He grins slightly when he sees her nod before shutting off the truck. “Lead the way.”

Once inside the house, Malibu hangs up his coat on the hook near the front door and kicks her boots off onto the wood floor directly underneath it.. “What’s your pleasure?” She heads over to the dining room sideboard where she has her bar accessories.

“A beautiful, hardworking woman naked on a blanket under an old magnolia tree.” He chuckles, settling down on the couch, able to watch her tinker with the glasses with the open floor plan.

“I’m afraid all I have are oaks and maples in the yard.” She smiles slightly, playing along with his game. Any other time previously, she would have called him a perv, but the more she spends time around him and begins to understand his humor, the more his presence appeals to her.

“Then I suppose a whiskey neat will have to do for now.” He smiles at how she banters her own joke back to him.

“Of course.” She pours his drink into a lowball glass, bringing it to him once satisfied with the amount the spills from the bottle.

The comfortable companionship and pleasant conversation keep them up into the wee hours of the morning. Malibu thinks she falls asleep against his shoulder somewhere around 4:30am, the deep rumble of his voice lulling her towards her slumber. Her mind and body relax as his scent, leather, a sharp musk... and a slight… woody smell maybe, wraps its arms around her, pulling her in deeper. For the first time, in a long time, she manages to sleep without waking up screaming.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malibu looks up from her cutting board quickly at the sound of the notification ding releasing from her phone. Dropping the knife, she grabs her phone, unlocking it. She sees it’s Ginger’s contact and falters slightly. However, she reads the message all the same.

_‘Getting cozy with Whiskey, are you? ;)’_

Tapping her thumbs with furrowed eyebrows, she continues the text chain.

_‘What?”_

_‘Tequila told me that Whiskey said he spent the night at your house.’_

She releases a heavy sigh. Jeez. Word seems to travel fast even when there’s no word to tell.

_‘It’s not like that, Ginger. He had been drinking and I insisted he stay. Nothing came of it.’_

She decides to leave out the fact that she actually fell asleep on him.

_‘That doesn’t happen with Whiskey. He doesn’t just spend the night at a woman’s house and nothing happens.’_

_‘First time for everything I guess.’_

Malibu returns her phone to the counter, a bit disappointed by the conversation. She doesn’t know why she’s waiting like an eager puppy. Actually, she might know why. As she sips from her rum and coke, she wonders whether or not she should feel guilty for feeling so comfortable with Jack so far. Especially having lost her husband not too long ago. She does feel guilty… most of the time. But when she’s with him, she can’t help but feel.. warm and at ease. She has always been doubtful about her marriage in the dark corners, of the way, way back of her mind, but it’s a fear that she has always kept buried in the back of the closet. Or in the dark, damp basement. Or in the stuffy attic. Anywhere to keep away the probing anxiety caused by something she thinks she’s always known. 

Tom was not her soulmate.

When she realizes she has sucked down more of her drink than she intended while zoned out amongst her conflicting emotions, she sets the glass down, returning to her vegetable chopping. This is another reason she is starting to enjoy being around Jack. His presence puts the vicious storm inside her soul at ease. At least until he’s gone again.

Besides, she’s starting to warm up to his cowboy thing.

**Slowly.**

Even the pet names were beginning to have his desired effect on her.

**Slightly.**

Stabbing the knife into the butcher block cutting board, she stares intently at her dark phone screen. She could solve this problem if she had the business card pinned to the corkboard in her shop at the Statesman headquarters.

But if he had given her his number the first day they met, why wasn’t he taking advantage of hers?

~

Halfway across town, to fight against the cold as he heads from his truck to the grocery store’s front doors, a certain cowboy tucks his hands away from the snowy breeze for the first time of the day. When he pushes his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, his right one brushes up against what feels like a scrap of paper. Did he write a shopping list and not remember? Unlikely. As if he would be that prepared.

Pulling the paper from the hidden spot, he comes to a stop on the sidewalk. A grin blooms its way across his face at the sight of the phone number written neatly in pencil, signed off with a swirling ‘M’. “Well I’ll be damned..” He mutters under his breath, pleasantly surprised by his discovery. 


	3. Dancing for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is an extra chapter I did a quick write for because a song I like came on the radio and I was /inspired/.  
> Song in question for this chapter is Body Like a Back Road by Sam Hunt if you want to be in the vibe with me :)

**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, very light smut, angst and hints towards previous DV towards the end!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

“God, isn’t there a single bar in this city that doesn’t play George Strait on repeat?” Malibu sighs before sipping at her drink. She sits her in a little bar up the street, having abandoned her solo dinner plans after being flooded with the desire to get out of the house. Instead of continuing to zone out while staring at the corner of the couch where she and Jack had spent most of the night basically cuddling. She winces hard at the rednecks croaking out the lyrics to the song blasting from the jukebox. Suddenly, a couple of coins are laid down on the bar in front of her by Donna, the bartender on shift currently.

“I’ve been trying to get something else turned on all night.‘Fraid there’s only country in there but I think you’ll pick a good one.” She smiles before going to collect dirty beer glasses.

Smiling slightly, she slides the coins into her hands before going to the jukebox against the wall. She’s surprised to see that it’s so advanced that it has a screen. After some time spent scrolling through the options, she loads Donna’s coins as well as some of her own into the machine, enough to build a playlist that can’t be interrupted due to the thing’s programming. She hits play on the first, playing something more modern and more on the pop country end of the spectrum. She climbs back into her barstool upon her return to her spot.

Donna brings the young woman’s glass from below, shaking her head at the confused expression. “Didn’t wanna leave it out in the open, honey.” She explains, “Can’t be too careful, even in the country.” She pushes the glass back to her.

“You’re so incredible. You know that?”

“Yeah I know.” The older woman smiles smugly, tossing her slightly tightly curled hair over her shoulder before reaching down into the ice chest.

“This seat taken?” A deep voice says lowly as if remorseful for intruding on the conversation.

Any other time, Malibu’s response would have been to tell this sleazo to get lost. But it’s  _ that  _ voice again. She’s not sure if that voice will ever not have this effect on her. So smooth and steady, sending more warmth cascading down her body than a glass of brandy ever will. “That depends…” She raises her gaze to meet the one radiating from those damn, deep, brown eyes. “You buying me a refill,  _ cowboy _ ?”

The corner of Jack’s lips immediately turns up in a half grin at her boldness. He puts a hand over his heart. “It would be my honor.”

“I know.” She teases him lightly and nods to Donna to bring the bottle, which she brings promptly, along with another glass. She watches him pour their drinks as she pulls her hoodie off, happy to get comfortable now that she has a known presence beside her.

“Ya don’t normally have your hair like that, darlin’.” He observes, holding her glass out to her.

“Hm?” She takes her drink from him.

“In braids like this.” He reaches out and lightly touches one of them. “Normally ya just have it up in a wrap so it’s out of the way.”

“You don’t like it?” She studies his face as he in turn studies her hair. What in the hell is she saying? Does she really care what this man thinks about seeing her hair in a different style?

“I like it like this a lot actually.” He says. “The wrap is definitely more forties and fifties, Rosie the Riveter style and it’s nice, but this looks casual and… comfortable.. It’s attractive.”

She watches him twist the braid he has his touch on around his fist. And when it accidentally causes a slight tug on the root, she’s flushed with a heat that has nothing to do with his voice or the brandy, which she tosses back quickly. She realizes that the answer is yes. She does care about what he thinks of her hair. Or anything about her.

“Ya alright, sugar?” Jack brings his hand from her hair to grab at his drink.

“Fine.. I’m fine..” She nods slightly, pouring herself another glass. “Listen Jack… I’m sure Donna isn’t pleased with us drinking her entire bottle of brandy so… How would you feel about.. maybe..” 

“Ya wanna dance?” Jack asks quietly, surprised by this. He didn’t think she was much of a dancer based off of the interaction they had on the first day they met.

“If you want to…” She throws back her next glass, just like the other one, searching desperately for the confidence she needs in the bottom of it. Why the hell is she acting like this? She has never been this nervous about men before. Not even when meeting Thomas. “I just like the song that I know is on next.”

He chuckles as he rises from his seat, holding his hand out to her. “The city girl actually likes a country song for once huh?” When she takes it, he leads her to the half occupied dance floor.

~

Jack watches her closely as she begins swaying her hips to the music, obviously the drinks she surprisingly slammed back loosening her up slightly.

“You can hold onto me..” She says softly.

A small smile working its way onto his face, he slides his hands onto her waist, feeling it shift under his hold as she moves her body to the rhythm.

**_Got a girl from the Southside_ **

**_Got braids in her hair_ **

**_First time I seen her walk by_ **

**_Man I 'bout fell up out my chair_ **

He chuckles slightly at how the song playing was too on point. He leans down into her, finding the groove and moving in sync with her when she pulls him closer, one arm wrapping around his neck and her other hand laying on his shoulder. At this new extremely close proximity they’re gaining, he can smell her perfume on her, a little bit flowery but mostly coconut.  _ Too perfect _ . He grins into her hair at how her scent lines up with the alcohol her codename is. It’s like she was molded to be this perfect by the hands of the universe itself.

**_Had to get her number_ **

**_It took me like six weeks_ **

**_Now me and her go way back_ **

**_Like Cadillac seats_ **

As the two of them gain the sync in their movements together, he takes note of the way their hips fit together like puzzle pieces, their limbs entangled in the exact ways they need to be. He decides to allow himself to indulge, pulling her flush up against himself, brushing his nose against her ear as he keeps himself rooted near her hair.  _ Intoxication _ . That is the only word he can possibly use to describe what this woman is doing to him. Absolute, blackout intoxication. And as quickly as he would like to throw himself all in, cards folded, her trauma as well as his own, keep them at enough of a distance. Like dancing near the flames but not getting close enough to catch.

**_Body like a back road_ **

**_Drivin' with my eyes closed_ **

**_I know every curve like the back of my hand_ **

**_Doin' 15 in a 30_ **

**_I ain't in no hurry_ **

**_I'ma take it slow just as fast as I can_ **

“Lower..” He suddenly hears her soft voice whisper to him from its whereabouts near his collarbone. Per her command, he moves his hands from her waist down to her hips. As he hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of her dark jeans, he has to stretch his thick fingers to reach further around her curvy hips. But it’s like some higher being is pushing them together because instantly they rest into the perfect hold, his gripping fingertips brushing near her ass. The strain of the jeans leaves no room for him to hold onto so he settles for lightly grabbing at her flesh through the material. He knows he’s hit his mark when he feels her heated, sharp exhale brush the skin of his neck over the collar of his leather jacket.

**_The way she fit in them blue jeans_ **

**_She don't need no belt_ **

**_But I can turn 'em inside out_ **

**_I don't need no help_ **

Clearly he’s not the only one enjoying their tangled dance because she turns in his arms, pressing her ass and back up against him as they continue their casual paced sway, her hips dipping low and dragging his along behind hers like a lovesick puppy dog. Returning his hold to her body, he acts up a bit and slides his hands from her ribcage on either side of her breasts, following her gorgeous form all the way down to her ass. And he swears that it was the angels that sent her along to him, feeling himself already starting to weave his way around her littlest finger.

**_Got hips like honey_ **

**_So thick and so sweet (Man)_ **

**_Ain't no curves like hers_ **

**_On them downtown streets_ **

It’s his turn for his breath to turn shallow when her back arches against him as she reaches an arm behind her, wrapping it back around his neck. He turns his head, pressing his lips to her exposed inner elbow. His chest swells at the sound of the giggles falling from her lips.

“That tickles, Jack..” She says softly.

“Does it, darlin’? I couldn’t tell.” He teases, pulling her closer. At how close they’re pressed together, he can hear her suddenly hold her breath. “Ya alright?” He asks for the second time tonight.

“Are we gonna get out of here or what, cowboy?” She tilts her head back, looking up at him.

“Oh, sweetheart..” He mumbles under his breath, his octave reaching a new level of deep as his eyes rake over her exposed throat. Reaching a hand up, he slowly runs his hand from underneath her jaw down to the hollow, his fingers spread wide and the pads rough against the smooth flesh. “We can go anywhere you want, darlin….”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soft sighs falling from her lips, Malibu tilts her head back as Jack showers her exposed neck with kisses, leaning back against her couch. She pulls his Stetson from his head and moves it to her own.

“You’re killin’ me, darlin..” He takes in the sight of her in his hat and jacket, having put it on her after she accidentally left her hoodie at the bar when they were more focused on paying the tab and leaving. “You have no idea what effect you have on me..” He captures her lips in a heated kiss finally, snaking his hands up under her shirt as she shrugs off the jacket.

When her shirt comes off and he starts reaching behind her for her bra clasps, she’s out of nowhere hit with the semi truck of reality and it all gets very real.  _ Too real. _ “J-Jack..” She stammers, breathing starting to hitch in anxiety. “Jack, wait!” She stops his hands quickly.

Jack raises his eyes to her face, confused but when he sees the panic on her face, he frowns, pulling his hands away. “Darlin, what’s the matter?” He asks softly. He brings a hand to her chin, pulling her gaze away from the wall and to his face gently. “Talk to me, sugar. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I… I’m not ready…” She whispers in a shaking voice, tears beginning to edge on her lashes. “I thought I was but I… I’m not… I’m so sorry…”

He shakes his head quickly when he hears the guilt in her voice and watches the way she puts her face in her hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for, darlin.” He holds her hands, removing them from her face slowly so as not to startle her. “ _ What _ , in all of God’s green earth, have you got to feel sorry for?”

“I just… I don’t want you to think I was leading you on…” She murmurs softly, looking at him.

He reaches his thumb out, catching the tear that rolls down her cheek. “Sweetheart, I promise you that you don’t ever have to feel guilty about any of this.” He kisses the back of her hand that’s still in his grasp. “No matter what. And you also don’t ever have to apologize for changin’ your mind. You have that right. No means no, darlin. No matter at what point in the evening. And as a big boy, I can handle that. You understand what I’m sayin’?” At her slight giggle and nod, he smiles in return to her. “I’m a patient man, sugar. I’m ready whenever you are but I can wait till then. Even if it’s never.”

She nods slightly, sniffling back her tears lightly. She can’t believe the level of care he’s putting into her.

Jack grabs the blanket off of the back of the couch, wrapping it around her, knowing it will help her feel more at ease to have her exposure covered. “You get comfortable, darlin’ and I’ll get us some drinks.” He straightens his hat on her head, still pleased with how it looks on her, half naked or not. “Pick somethin’ out to watch.”

Malibu is floored as she watches him pull his cowboy boots off before heading into the kitchen. Is such comfortable, domestic care from him common? Based on the rumors she’s heard about him throughout the office and the other agents and techs, she wants to answer that question with a big fat no. But is that just her being hopeful? Stupidly hopefully? All because she wants this man to think of her as something different than most women, or even something special to him?

She knows what she wants. She wants to be loved well.

To be seen as an equal.

To be looked at like she’s the only star in the sky.

Or the only drop of water in the desert.

To be seen as someone’s other half or their soulmate.

Something she’s never been to a man.

As she lightly touches the scars on her sides under the blanket and images of old cuts and bruises drift across her memories, she can’t help but wonder if she was even ready to think of someone else like that again. For her sake. Not anyone else’s.

She realizes that the guilt she’s been feeling over her closeness to Jack gaining so much speed isn’t caused by the mourning of the loss of her husband; she doesn’t think she ever really mourned him. It was the fear of consequences for any out of line action or emotion. Something that can never plague her again now that the iron fist in her life is gone.

And she knows as she touches a particularly deep scar close to her back, she will never mourn for what she lost in France. Because for the first time in years, she truly feels like she has gained a grip on freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a smaller, extra chapter. The next main chapter will be posted on Monday!!


	4. Partners? Partners.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malibu decides it's time for her to set some definitive lines on her relationship with Jack. But it may not necessarily be what he's hoping for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Just an annoying "nice guy" jerk in the beginning who's a tad bit threatening

Malibu ducks quickly behind one of the cars in the Statesman garage. All week, she has been avoiding a specific tech crew member from the engineering labs on the fourth floor. She knows why he’s been looking for her and trying to corner her alone. He wants to ask her to be his date to the Statesman holiday gala. She knows for a fact that that’s what it is. Ginger had given her plenty of warning after she had heard the kid scheming his approach with some of the other tech monkeys in the lab one day. Suddenly, he pops around the corner and she tries to appear busy.

“Malibu!” He says, way too overly cheerful for the early hour.

She puts on the best fake smile she can manage. “Devin!” She moves away from him, pretending to be looking for a specific tool when in actuality, she’s looking for an excuse to get away from him.

“I’ve got something to ask you!” He says, trying to saddle in closer to her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but I’m actually quite swamped right now.” She moves away again to the tool bench.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all week. You know, I’m starting to feel like you’re avoiding me on purpose, Malibu.” He does a fake pout, causing her to internally cringe. “Avoiding someone is not very nice. Just saying.”

Malibu sighs and looks at him as he approaches again, shuffling back slightly when he stands way too close. It’s time to rip the bandage off and just reject him she supposes. What excuse can she use? She wracks her brain, frantically trying to find  _ something _ , some way to get out of this gala invite. “What can I do for you, Devin?” She sighs softly.

“I was wondering if you would be my date to the gala?” He grins.

God, she wants to roll her eyes so hard. He thinks he’s smooth, doesn’t he? She’s seen charming grins on a man already and this is not it.

“After all, it’s the social event of the season, so you’ll want to show up on the arm of someone like me.”

Malibu can’t help but snort. This kid is absolutely out of his mind! She’s never met someone so oblivious. “Sorry, Devin, but no.” She shakes her head.

Devin frowns hard. “What do you mean no?” He demands, his tone almost threatening. “You don’t even have a date yet, so why not?”

She takes a few steps back from his slow, slightly aggressive advancing. “I do.”

“What?”

“I do have a date already. That’s why I can’t go with you.”

“Who?”

“W-What…?”

“Who. Is. Taking. You.” He asks, voice slow and clearly underlined with venom.

“Um…” Malibu rubs the back of her neck slightly, “You want to know who my date is?.. My date to the gala?”

“Yes!”

“It’s uh…” She looks around slowly, trying to think quickly on her feet. “It’s…” Suddenly, she catches sight of a perfectly timed cowboy entering the shop through a door at the top of the stairs that lead to the second-floor offices. “Whiskey!” She exclaims pleasantly.

“What!” Devin scoffs angrily.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” Jack dishes his usual greeting to her as he reaches the two, her cup of coffee from the cafe up the road in hand. He holds the cup out towards her.

Instead, she ducks under his arm, slotting into his side and wrapping an arm around his waist. She flashes an overly perky smile to Devin. “Yep! Whiskey is my date!”

Jack furrows his eyebrows slightly. “Come again, darlin’?”

Devin narrows his eyes in suspicion, put off by the other agent’s confusion.

Malibu looks up at Jack quickly. “Devin asked to take me to the holiday gala. But I told him I can’t go with him because YOU are already my date.” She says, praying to whatever higher beings exist that he’ll catch on.

Looking down at her face, he sees the way her eyes are practically screaming ‘HELP ME’. “Oooh!” His eyes widen slightly in realization. “Right. Yeah.” He looks to the young kid who had obviously been trying to pull a move on Malibu before he had arrived on the scene. “Right. Sorry, uh... Kid.” He realizes he’s never seen him before and doesn’t know his name, “I’m escortin’ Agent Malibu here to the party. Just had to catch up on the conversation for a second there.”

Devin plasters a ridiculously fake, painfully thin smile on his obnoxious face. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.” He seethes, “It gets hard to keep up when you start getting older.”

Malibu’s jaw drops slightly at the low blow that this stupid ass twerp takes by jabbing at Jack’s age.

“Listen here,  _ buckaroo _ .” Whiskey jabs a finger at him as he wraps his other arm around Malibu tightly, holding her close to his side. He smirks slightly at the heated anger coming from this punk-ass kid’s eyes as he watches Malibu put her hand on his chest, holding onto his suit jacket. “I would watch yourself if I were you. Get too big in the britches and I’ll knock ya right on your ass. Ya hearin’ me?”

Malibu smiles sweetly. “Have a good day, Devin.” She lays her head on Jack’s shoulder, watching the young man turn and slink away out of the garage, rage seething from him. She sighs and lets go of Jack, pulling away slowly. “Thank you..” She takes the coffee from him. “I really appreciate you doing that for me..”

“Not a problem, darlin’. You let me know if he continues to give ya problems and I’ll set him straight.” He leans against her tool bench. “How long has he been acting like that?”

“I don’t know... A few weeks maybe?”

“Do ya wanna file a harassment complaint about him with Champ?”

Malibu shakes her head quickly. “No. No. It’s okay. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

He frowns at the fact that she’s just wanting to brush this off. “Ya sure? If you want, I can cause your fuss for ya.” He takes a hold of her hand.

“It’s fine, Jack, I think it’ll be alright. I don’t want to cause any issues worse than there already are..”

“Well as long as you’re sure..” He mutters. He watches as she takes a sip from the coffee, her hand shaking slightly as she lifts the cup. He realizes how much this has shaken her up and can’t help but wonder why this is affecting her so deeply. He decides to change the subject for now. But he is definitely planning on having a serious sit down with Champ to discuss this asshole’s behavior. “So what color tie should I wear?”

She looks at him, furrowing her eyebrows this time. “What?...”

“To match ya dress for the gala. What color tie do I need to get?” He grins at her.

This is the grin that gives her butterflies. The one that makes her legs feel weaker. She doesn’t think she’ll ever see anything like it. “O-Oh... I was just..”

“If I’m gonna be your date, sweetheart, we gotta match.” He lifts her hand to his lips, kissing her middle finger knuckle lightly.

“I...I actually wasn’t planning on going.” She says bashfully.

“Well alright but if you and I don’t show up together, your lab rat is gonna think he still has a chance.”

She bites her lip slightly. “Yeah… You’re probably right..” She tries to think about what dresses she has. Not much. Mechanics jumpsuits and work boots she has plenty of but nothing for formal occasions. She supposes she'll have to go shopping. "Um.. can I get back to you on the color? I'll have to go shop."

"That's fine." He nods slightly.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malibu knocks on the open medical bay door lightly where Ginger is running some tests on one thing or another. "Hey, Ginger?" She asks softly. "Got a minute?"

Ginger looks up from her microscope. "Malibu! Yeah, of course. Come on in." She nods, moving back from the desk. "What can I do for you?"

Malibu rubs her neck lightly. She isn't entirely sure if she and Ginger were incredibly close enough for something like this, but in terms of female friends, she's the closest thing she has. She decides to just rush out her needed favor as quickly as she can. "So the gala is this weekend and I need a dress. Will you go shopping with me?"

She perks up immensely at her friend’s words. “You’re going?!” She asks, excited at first but then she cringes. “Oh no, Devin didn’t twist your arm and force you into being his date. Did he?”

“Um.. no..”

“So you’re gonna just go by yourself then? That’s okay. That’s what Tequila, Vodka, and I are doing. You can join our group if you want to.”

“Ah.. um... Also no. I have a date. It’s just.. not Devin..” She perches on the edge of one of the swivel chairs.

“Oh?” Ginger tilts her head slightly. “Who are you going with then?”

“Promise me you won’t tell everybody, but.. Whiskey is going to be my date.”

Ginger gasps and sits up quickly. “You and Jack?! Does that mean you guys are…?”

“Are what?” Malibu furrows her eyebrows, not understanding her implications.

“That you guys are, you know... going steady?”

“ _ OH. _ Oh, no. No, we’re just friends is all.” She says softly.

“Oh come on. I see how you stare at him.”

“ _ Stare  _ at him? I do not stare at him.”

Ginger scoffs, laughing at the young woman. “Oh shut up. Jack may be blind, but I see how you stare at him like he’s a freshly baked cherry pie.” She crosses her arms.

Malibu rolls her eyes hard. “God Ginger. That’s so not true.” She knows she needs to change the subject quickly otherwise she’ll keep prying. “So will you go shopping with me or not?”

“Of course.” Ginger smiles. “And while we shop, you can fill me in on you and Jack.”

She sighs softly, knowing she’s not going to be able to get out of this if she wants dress choice help, which she desperately needs. “Alright…” She grumbles reluctantly, feeling like their tech genius is the one twisting her arm now, instead of Devin.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Approaching the railing of the balcony, Malibu overlooks the gala taking place below her as the orchestra plays from one side, their sounds mingling in the room and rising into the cathedral ceilings. The long, dark emerald-colored chiffon skirt of her dress reaches the marble floor, flowing behind her as she moves. Her left leg is bare as the slit of the dress rises to her hip, it, the plunging neckline, and the backless cut, all leaving little to the imagination. As she scans the room slowly, she spots Jack speaking with Champ and Tequila near the bar. His back may be to her but she knows, already, she could spot that hands-on-hips, slightly popped stance through even the thickest of crowds. She smiles a bit to herself, suddenly flushed with slight nervousness. What is wrong with her? She has faced machine guns and car chases. Why is she all of a sudden struck with fear? Is this what… love feels like?

Malibu watches as Tequila gestures past Jack, causing the older agent to turn his head back. When his face lights up with the largest grin she thinks she’s ever seen on him, the feelings in her chest fill the space to the point she feels as if she may burst. It’s at this moment that she realizes that she truly believes that the answer to her question might be yes. And that terrifies her more than raining bullets ever will.

“Come on.” Ginger gently nudges the female agent’s elbow with her own. Once they have them locked, the two of them head down the large staircase together. “Now, remember, don’t be nervous. You’re gonna be great. There’s nothing to be worried about. He’s just a man.”

Jack makes his way through the dense party, weaving around people, occasionally brushing against one or another, or placing a hand on a shoulder to move past, apologizing but not seeing any of them. His eyes are locked only on Malibu as she descends the stairs towards him, forbidding himself to let his attention be given to anything else on God’s green earth.

As Malibu watches him approaching like a man on a mission, she’s nearly knocked backward by the intensity of his gaze. He’s looking at her as if she’s the only person on the planet. And she can’t help but disagree with Ginger’s statement, This isn’t just any man. This is the man that she has searched her whole life to find. But the only thing that terrifies her, even more, is the idea of ruining everything. She's completely frightened that her dark past may ultimately prove to be her undoing when it comes to how she feels about Jack. She's flooded with the understanding that she is going to have to dial back on this if she wants to make things happen right. Malibu just hopes that this doesn't also run the risk of everything crumbling. Finally, she's brought back down to Earth by the woman to her right speaking up. 

“Good evening, Jack.” Ginger smiles at the agent when they reach where he’s waiting at the bottom of their descent.

“Evenin’, Ginger.” Jack’s voice is just a mutter as he greets her, yet keeps his eyes fixated on the woman she’s hooked elbows with.

“Well. I’ll let you two kids get to it then?” Ginger lets go of Malibu, smiling knowingly, and heads towards Tequila and Champ. “I don’t think we’ll hear from them again for the rest of the night.” Her voice is a soft sigh as she taps Tequila’s arm lightly to silently request for him to order her a drink.

“I’m thinkin’ those two are going to be exactly what each other needs.” Champ chuckles before drinking back what is left inside his lowball glass.

“Hello, Jack..” Malibu greets him, his name falling from her lips in a breathless voice, and in his mind, it sounds so perfect, it’s as if the planets are aligning just for the two of them.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He extends his hand to her, wrapping his wide fingers around her cool ones. “Ya cold, sweetheart?”

“Just a bit…” She holds onto his hand as he leads her down the last two steps and towards the bar.

“I’ll make sure to warm ya up.” He chuckles lightly, watching the way her free hand lightly touches his suit jacket before moving to the tie tied around his neck, the color matching the same deep hue of her gown. “We look good together, don’t we?”

She sucks in a soft breath at the most important word in his statement.  _ Together. _ “Yes…” She keeps a hold on his elbow as they walk through the crowd. She looks up past the people on the floor towards the stage near the orchestra when she hears Champ’s voice come through the speakers linked to the microphone in his hand.

“Now that we have all of our teams present at our little shindig, it’s time to start the Agent’s Waltz,” Champ says, pausing to allow the crowd to give applause at the appropriate time, “Agents, grab ya partners and head to the dancefloor. All of our crew members, please make room.”

“Let’s go, sugar,” Jack says, beginning to lead Malibu to the dancefloor.

“W-Wait! I’m not an active agent anymore.” Malibu shakes her head quickly, trying to keep her feet planted. “And I can’t waltz!”

“Ya still have the title don’tcha?” At her nod, he continues, “Then it counts. And don’t you worry bout the dance, darlin’. I gotcha.” He leads her around to face him gently before looping an arm around her waist as they take their place amongst the other pairs of agents on the large dancefloor. As she looks around, she sees that all of the matched agents are not only partners for the dance but are the partners they have in the field also.

With a soft gasp cascading past her lips, she’s lifted by his arm and settled onto the tops of his feet, the toes of her shoes hardly even affecting his. She realizes that he intends to carry her through the whole thing but make it appear as if she’s contributing. “Isn’t this cheating, Jack…?” She murmurs.

“Only if there’s a contest but there isn’t.” He grins widely down at her.

“But I’m not your field partner…” Her voice is almost a whisper now.

“No… But luckily for you, I don’t currently have one.” When the music sounds and the rest of the agents begin to move in time with not only the music but also the other pairs, he begins the dance. He moves his feet, and in turn, Malibu’s through the steps, spinning them as they go.

Malibu’s cheeks stain with red as she sees Ginger’s enthusiastic wave from the bar and she hides her face into Jack’s neck. “People are going to start questioning us, Jack…” She murmurs. “Asking what we are.”

His confidence falters slightly. “And what should we tell them?”

“Nothing..” She whispers. She raises her eyes to look up into his own dark brown orbs. “I want you to know something. Okay?”

He looks down at her, keeping his hold on her steady even as the waltz slows to a stop and applause erupts. “Well, go on then.”

“Jack… I’d like to think I’m fond of you…” Her voice is low and even, trying to save her face. “But I can’t throw myself into something like that again already… I’ve lived my whole life living in the shadow of a man. First my father, then my husband. I need to know that I’m able to live my life for myself. If that’s okay.”

He opens his mouth to speak but her fingertips lightly touch his lips to silence him. Any other time, any other person, and he would have been mad as all hell at the childish gesture. But he allows her to continue.

“You’ve awoken something in me that I thought was long dead… Confidence in myself.” She moves her hand to rest on his shoulder.

“What are you sayin’, darlin’?”

“Jack, I want to return to active duty.”

“You… what?”

“I know I said I would never go back…” She plays with his tie, moving her eyes away from his, her self-assurance beginning to waver in response to his confusion. “But I feel like if I’m standing next to you… if I’m fighting at your side, I’m ready to re-enter the field. If you’ll have me as your partner…”

Jack watches the way her eyes study his tie in nervousness as she avoids looking directly at him. “Partners it is then, gorgeous.” He raises her hand that he still has held in his own, bringing it to his lips and pressing them against her flesh lightly. Quickly, her lashes flutter in surprise, her gaze reaching his.

“Really?”

“How am I supposed to say no after that little speech of yours?”

Malibu releases her tight breath in relief. “Jack, you don’t know what this means to me. I…. I’m gonna go talk to Champ about it. And I’ll get us some drinks too.” As she hugs him tightly around the neck, she plants a kiss on his smooth, tan cheek. Before hurrying off, she rubs the mark her blood-red lipstick left on his skin.

Jack lets his hands fall to his sides. He plants one on one of his hips, watching her hurry over to their director’s place at the bar. “Right.” He mutters in a sigh as he fixes the dark Stetson sitting on his head. _Field partners_. He can deal with that. At least he hopes, as it seems like that’s his only option.


	5. On The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When something major happens, Malibu is ready to throw herself back into the field. But is she as ready as she thinks she is??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah these lovestruck morons. What will we do with them?

During the early hours of the morning, the sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel driveway can be heard over Malibu’s tinkering inside her personal garage. She slowly halts the wrench in her hand, listening carefully. She hears the footsteps climb the steps to the front door and then the sound of the doorbell reverberates throughout the house. Followed by the same steps sprinting away from the porch. Emerging from the garage, she sees there’s a large package on the front porch and frowns. She didn’t order anything. She wasn’t expecting a package. At least she doesn’t believe so. Climbing the steps, she inspects the package carefully. No return address? A ton of international shipping labels on it? She stops moving to silence herself when she thinks she hears something coming from inside the brown box. Leaning close, she strains her ear. What is that?

Her eyes go wide at the realization that what she’s hearing is the a digital tick sound of what sounds like a countdown. “Oh shit.” She moves away quickly, sprinting away from the porch. She doesn’t get far before the package blows, the porch, house, and half of the garage exploding along with it, the shock wave throwing her across the driveway and into the window of one of her parked project cars. She turns her head, so the side takes the hard impact instead of her face, the connection of her body with the car causing the glass to crack. She groans softly after landing in the hard gravel below. Rolling over, she watches as the debris of her home scatters onto those of the neighbors, traveling far and landing on roofs and cars. She reaches shaking and bloodied fingers into her back jeans pocket and pulls out her cell phone.

~

Jack jumps slightly when he hears a boom-like sound reach the office. It’s so loud that it shakes the long oak conference table he’s sitting at with Champ. “What the fuck!” He looks over towards Ginger who's standing near the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the top floor of the building.

“What the hell…” Ginger mutters as a large mushroom cloud rises into the sky from a location that seems to be a few miles up the road. It quickly turns to a giant plume of grey and black smoke.

Rising from their chairs quickly, both Champ and Jack hurry to Ginger’s side, seeing the smoke beginning to darken the sky.

“Something exploded. I watched it happen.” Ginger places a hand on the glass as she tries to see past all of the trees in the very far distance.

“Isn’t that the direction that Malibu lives in?” Jack asks although he can tell by the way his stomach drops that subconsciously, he already knows he’s correct.

“Did she come into the office today?” Champ frowns, trying to see if he can pick up anything in the distance with his Statesman glasses. But it’s to no avail. The dense trees block too much.

“No. She fuckin’ didn’t!” Jack grabs his hat off of the conference table, rushing to head out of the building. At the sound of his shrill ringtone, he pulls his phone out of his suit jacket pocket as he continues his distressed rush, Ginger in quick step behind him as she pages for Tequila to meet them at his truck. He answers without checking the caller ID first, more focused on digging his keys out of his other pocket when they’re reaching the parking lot. “Hello?” He freezes at the sound of shaky breaths on the other side of the line, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

“J-Jack..” Malibu’s voice comes through the speaker against his ear.

“Where are you, baby doll?" He listens, feeling desperation set in when she cries softly instead of answering him. He almost feels helpless and to be quite honest, he hates it. "Where are you? Talk to me, darlin’.”

“Jack, I… I’ve been attacked..” Her breath was releasing rapidly now, sounding as if she’s trying to hold back her hyperventilating. “I don’t know who it is, but… but they've blown up the house... It’s gone.. I’ve lost everything... I-” Her speaking is cut off as the phone drops and he can hear her scream mixed in with the sound of metal hitting metal and the sound of breaking glass.

“Malibu!” Jack barks into the phone but the line goes dead. He shouts his anger aggressively as he gets into the truck cab, Ginger sliding into the passenger seat. As he brings the truck to life, he feels Tequila jump the tailgate into the bed of the pick-up. Once his bang of readiness sounds off of the metal top of the cab, he throws the truck into drive, peeling out of the parking lot so fast, the tires squeal on the asphalt.

“What did she say, Jack!” Ginger calls loudly over the sound of the truck hitting high speeds, a hand grasped tightly onto the roof handle.

“She’s being attacked.” The words leave a bad taste in his mouth and push him to drive faster. Drifting through his sudden turn off of the main road into Malibu’s driveway, his truck kicks up gravel and rocks into his paint and rims but he doesn’t slow down until he sees his girl come into view. Well. Not his girl. But still. His girl. He thinks. He curses his stupidity in his mind.  **_‘Not the time, Jack.’_ ** He skids to a stop a little too late and his bumper hits one of the project cars in the yard. Before he’s even put the truck into park, Tequila is hopping down from the truck bed, pumping his shotgun quickly.

“God damn it!” Malibu curses as she dodges the metal pipe that her masked assailant swings at her. She lets out a grunt as he kicks her onto her back. Grabbing an extra-large combination wrench from off the ground near one of the cars, she blocks the man’s next blow. She rolls away as the man continues to try to take hits at her. She yelps slightly when he lands the pipe into her ribs. Swinging her wrench as hard as she can, she slams it into his knee, knocking him down to the ground onto his other knee.

Suddenly a gunshot rings out and the breath is knocked out of her when the guy lands on top of her after receiving a bullet from Tequila’s shotgun to the back of his head.

“Tequila, you dumb ass.” Ginger smacks his arm. “We needed him for information. To you know, figure out why he planted a bomb at Malibu’s house?!” She shakes her head, frustrated by his nonchalant shrug and his shuffling of excuses.

After heaving the man’s dead body off of Malibu, Jack helps her up gently. “Look at you, baby doll. You’re a mess…” He moves her hair back.

She shoves his hands off of her. “Excuse me, but I kinda just got blown up, attacked, beaten up, and had a dude be killed on top of me.” She snaps, angry and scared after all of the events that have occurred all before 9 o’clock in the morning. “I’m sorry if I don’t exactly look like a supermodel.”

“Now, you know that’s not what I meant-”

“Jack, I’m being shot at and blown up and hunted!” She shouts, throwing the wrench away angrily. “Why is this happening?!”

“Well, I surely don’t know, darlin’. But we’re gonna figure it out fast. Before anything else like this keeps happening.” He gently touches her swollen and bruised cheekbone where she had been punched. He watches her twist around and look up at her house, or what’s left of it, as the smoke and flames continue to rise into the sky. In the distance, the sound of fire truck sirens and horns can be heard. He holds onto her arm when the sobs begin to rack her body now that her adrenaline is wearing off.

“Jack, what am I going to do? How am I going to find a new place?” She looks over at him.

Jack thinks he hears the audible crack of his heart when he sees the tears bubble and cling to her eyelashes, her nose red from the cold and crying, bruises and welts on her face. The sad sight she projects causes the cracks in his heart to spiderweb out further. “Oh, baby doll..” He says softly. “ _ We _ will find you a new house. A better house. And we’ll move your cars there.” He puts his hand over hers as she grabs onto the lapel of his suit jacket, letting her use him as an emotional anchor. At least that’s how he hopes she feels. “And in the meantime, we’ll get you a hotel to stay at.”

“Jack…” Ginger says softly, stepping up near them, “I don’t think a hotel is a good idea. They’ll expect it. They’ll be looking for her. Whoever they are..”

“You think there’s more, Ginger?” Tequila speaks up from where he’s searching the assailant’s body.

“Definitely. It’s obvious this guy was just carrying out somebody else’s plan.” She nods slightly, “When he doesn’t return, they’ll start looking for her. They’re going to hunt her until they find her.”

“Good fuckin’ lord, Ginger!” Jack snaps at her, having felt Malibu cling to him tighter at the woman’s words. “It’ll be fine. If she can’t stay at a hotel, she’ll stay with me.”

Ginger and Malibu both look at him at the same time. “What?”

He casts his eyes down to her. “You’re going to stay with me. And I’ll work from home while you recover and we’ll go from there. Understood?”

Malibu is surprised. She can’t say she necessarily needs to ‘recover’ but something about his commanding tone prompts her to not respond. She can’t believe she’s letting a man take such easy control of her emotions. Even if it’s a good kind of control. One to keep her stable. It surprises her, especially after having been taught by her father to be independent of others. So as to not end up broken-hearted and alone as he did. She’s startled when he stands, scooping her up into his arms. “Jack… I can walk..” She murmurs softly.

“You go ahead and get her out of here, Jack.” Ginger opens the passenger door of his truck so he can set Malibu inside. “Tequila and I will stay here and deal with the fire crew and clean up.”

Jack sets her on the front bench seat of the truck. “Keep me updated and tell Champ my work plans.” Once she confirms his request, he climbs into the truck on his side.

"Jack, you don't have to take me in." Malibu mutters, " And I don't need to recover. There's nothing to recover from. We need to figure out who is doing this."

"You're hurt."

"Barely."

"It's not a good idea to jump right into-"

"Somebody is obviously tracking me." She bites hard. "I am being  **_hunted_ ** . And I want to find out who it is and why they're doing this."

"You can't find solutions when you're-"

" _ Jack _ !"

He grips the steering wheel in his hands tightly. "Alright. Alright." When she turns to face out the window, he heads towards his ranch home, despite her trying to convince him, as well as herself, that she doesn’t need help. " _ Fuckin' stubborn _ ." He grumbles under his breath.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So the assailant had a cell phone on him. Thankfully we were able to get some information off of it." Champ states, looking at the three agents sitting at the conference table, Ginger standing to his side. "Fill 'em in, honey." He waves his hand to her.

"The assailant was operating on orders being given to him by an anonymous person based outside of the United States. We were unable to track the location." Ginger sighs softly, wishing they had more. Tequila killing their only suspect really put a hitch in their investigation. "But the person who planted the bomb traveled here from Los Angeles two days ago. We contacted the LAPD to see if they had any similar incidents recently and they informed us of one." She sets a picture down on the table and slides it across to Malibu. "This location was blown up three days ago. Do you know it?"

Malibu looks at the house in the picture, picking it up slowly. "This is my family home… I used to live there before I moved to London with…" She frowns slightly, not wanting to say his name. "Before I transferred to Kingsman."

Ginger frowns as she hears exactly what she didn't want to. "I'm sorry to say, Malibu… but you are definitely being…"

"Hunted." She fills in the silence bitterly.

"Do you have any enemies, snowbird?" Champ asks her as he pours himself a glass of Statesman whiskey.

"Can you narrow it down? Otherwise, we'll be here all afternoon." She leans back in her chair, setting the picture back down on the table.

"I think it's going to be best if we send some agents to Los Angeles to investigate the other remnants from the other explosion and try to get more information." Ginger looks to their boss who nods in agreement.

"Me and Whiskey will go." Tequila stands, placing his hands on the table.

"No." Champ points a finger down, telling him to return to his chair. "You're not goin'. You're on restriction for actin' recklessly and killin' our only lead." He watches him sink back down in his chair. "We'll send Vodka with Whiskey." He watches Jack, who surprisingly has been quiet through this whole meeting, rise from his chair.

" _ Excuse me _ ," Malibu speaks up incredulously. "I'm the one being hunted. Los Angeles is my city. This-" She brandishes the glossy photo aggressively. "-is my home! And Whiskey is  **_my_ ** partner now." She can't describe the flare of jealousy that chased its way down her spine when it was suggested that Vodka goes with Jack to LA. She hopes that her intensity can be seen as a passion for solving her own case instead of petty emotion for a man that isn't even hers. "If I'm re-entering the field, my first investigation may as well be my own." She pushes herself up from the table.

"Baby doll..." Jack moves to grab her elbow but she jerks it out of his reach, refusing to be contained or told to settle by him.

"This is going to be an invasive case. I'm not sure if you're-"

"I'm ready." She interjects but adds a bit of respect afterward so as to not irritate her boss who has the final say in this matter, "I'm ready, sir."

Champ rubs his slightly scruffy chin slowly, eyes scrutinizing her every twitch and expression. "Alright then, snowbird. We'll let ya get your feet wet. Go on and tell the hangar to prep the jet for ya'll." He instructs her. As she's leaving, he stops Whiskey and gestures for him to return to the group. "Keep a close eye on her, Whiskey. If she starts showin' any sign of bein' unstable, you bring her back home. Understood?"

Jack tilts his hat slightly, hand on the brim. "Read ya loud and clear, boss."

"Now go on. Both of ya get goin'." He waves towards the door, sending him after the other agent before sinking down into his high-backed chair at the head of the table, with his low ball glass in hand. He sees the glower on Tequila’s face and looks at the peeved agent. "Why are ya still sittin' here, boy? Ya go with Ginger and clean whatever she tells ya to." He watches as the young man follows her out of the room, shoulders stooped in a sulk.

~

Malibu tosses her bag on the floor of the seating area of the Statesman jet that they’re using to travel to LA before she makes a beeline for the large half-circle bar and glass wall of alcohol that separates the sleeping area with the giant circle bed from the common area. Pouring herself a glass of dark rum, she avoids the just as dark brown eyes that stare at her from the couch as Jack joins her in the jet. “What?...” She mutters as she raises her gaze to meet the one watching her intently in the mirror behind the bar.

“When’s the last time ya got any sleep, darlin’?” He asks although he already knows the answer. Over the last few days of her staying with him after the explosion, she hadn’t slept a wink. Every night, he heard her moving about inside the old ranch house, sometimes keeping to the guest room, sometimes going downstairs. He even awoke one morning to find her curled up in a blanket on the cold front porch as the sun rose.

“Define sleep…” Her voice is low as she nurses her glass.

He rubs his jaw lightly. “We’ve got a few hours till we hit LA. Why don’t ya go on and lay down and sleep?”

Malibu weighs her options carefully. She can either sit out here in the awkwardness of sharing a close space with Jack or go pretend to sleep. When she turns and looks at him, eyes immediately jumping to the blue jeans strained against the spread stance of his thighs, she decides quickly that she would hide away in the sleeping area. ‘Maybe.. Yeah..” She nods, “Um… I guess I’ll be up in a little bit..” She holds her drink close to her chest, heading to the back area, avoiding his eye contact. God. What is  _ wrong  _ with her?! Why is she so afraid of this? They had almost hit that level once but her fear made her miss out. She lays down in the bed, keeping on top of the covers as her mind races and spins in dizzying circles. She wants to know what it’s like to be held by him. To be kissed by him. To have his hands- She shakes her head quickly and half sits up, downing the rest of her drink in one go before rolling over and setting the empty glass on the table next to the comfortable, pillow-top mattress. It almost pulls her into sleep.  _ Almost _ . But she knows there’s another place that would help her sleep better.

~

Jack looks up from the police report of the Los Angeles explosion involving Malibu’s old home when he hears light footsteps nearby. “Ya alright, baby doll?” He asks as Malibu approaches him, dragging a blanket with her.

“No…” She mutters softly, nose slightly crinkled in discontentment. He finds it more adorable than anything he thinks he’s ever seen. She climbs onto the couch next to him, curling up and leaning against his body, putting her head on his shoulder. “If I’m gonna toss and turn, I at least wanna wake up smelling like aftershave…”

His eyebrow cocks up so high, he thinks it hits his hairline. “That so?”

“Mmn.” Her confirmation coming out as a mere mumble. She pulls the blanket up to her chin, arms snaking around his middle and holding on tight.

He chuckles lightly as he allows her to get nice and snug against him, despite his confusion caused by her ups and downs and the fluctuations of her tolerance of himself. However, he's along for the ride anyway, he decides. He puts his arm across the back of the couch, encasing her into his side further. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No, Jack!” Malibu holds fast to her refusal to seek the aid of the Los Angeles Police Department during their investigation.

“They’re going to have additional infor-”

“No.”

“They have leads for the explosions-”

“ _ NO _ .”

Jack grabs her by her arm and pulls her off of the main sidewalk and into the alley near the precinct he was intending on getting the info from. He keeps his hold on her firm, looking down at her. “Now listen to me,” He says lowly, his form pressing hers to the wall of the alley, hoping that her stubbornness didn’t attract too much attention to them. “Ya know I don’t like bein’ real strict with ya, baby doll, but I’m gonna remind ya that there’s someone really into bombs looking for ya. Right?” At her nod of confirmation, he continues. “And right now, these cops are our only place to get leads from. Ya understandin’ me?”

Malibu looks up at his face for a very long moment. She nods slightly to silently agree with his insistence.

“Good girl.” He releases the grasp he has on her arm and heads out to return to the front of the building, not realizing that his two-word utterance makes his partner agent freeze in her tracks.

Her eyes blow wide and her eyebrows shoot higher than the heavens whilst her gaze immediately crashes to the ground.  **_‘Jesus fuckin' Christmas.’_ **

_ That’s  _ a new one to add to the book of possible….interests.

Hearing Jack call her name, Malibu fans herself slightly, realizing she’s sweating worse than a sinner in church. “Give me strength…” She mutters to herself stepping in behind Jack’s lead into the precinct building. Eyes above the waist, she reminds herself as she follows the sculpture in jeans that’s walking ahead of her. Their path continues as the receptionist leads them down the halls to the office of the Chief of Police.

“Here you go, honey.” The girl gives Jack a smile that is both way too sweet and way too desperate, making the desire to throw hands wash over Malibu like a goddamn tidal wave.

“Thank you.” Malibu’s return smile is tight and shark-like, her words coming through clenched teeth. She only receives a judgemental look in return.

“C’mon.” Jack grabs his partner’s hand, pulling her into the Chief’s office to avoid a catfight breaking out in the hallway. He can’t understand what made her so heated all of a sudden. Throughout the entire meeting, he feels like Malibu could be a space heater with the amount of hot rage radiating from her as she silently seethes in the chair to his left. “We appreciate all the help. Truly.” He states as he shakes Chief Johnson’s hand, things coming to an end. “Statesman will pass along their thanks, of course.”

“Anytime, Agent Whiskey.” He shakes his hand in response before looking at the little ball of anger practically vibrating next to the man, oblivious to the girl's negative emotions. “And it’s great to see you after all these years. I’m happy to see that you ended up following in your father’s footsteps.”

“You two know each other?” Jack muses as he picks up the files of information they will be taking with them.

Malibu is silent.

“Her father, Captain Morgan, helped us quite a bit back in the day. He began helping us long before I got promoted. I owe a lot of my career to that man. He was a wonderful outsider asset.” the Chief smiles warmly. He returns his attention to the young woman. “Malibu, I promise we’ll do everything we can to find who’s hunting you. I won’t rest until they’re in custody.”

“ _ Bullshit _ .” She spits in pure hate.

“What?” the Chief frowns.

“Hey now.” Jack scolds.

“BULLSHIT.” Malibu throws herself out of her chair and slams her hands down on the desk. “You won’t do jack shit for me. Just like you didn’t for my dad.” She jerks her elbow hard when Jack grabs onto it, breaking his tight grip. “When my dad was running for his life, trying to protect his kid, trying to convince YOU, to make YOU understand, that people wanted him dead, where were you?! After everything that he did for you.” She doesn’t know when the tears start to fall but she can feel the burn from them when they do. She throws everything she can from his desk, anything her hands can reach. “When someone was chasing him down in the streets, clipping his car into a brick wall at 100 miles an hour and then torching what remained, where the FUCK were you and your boys in blue then?!”

Chief Johnson rises from his chair angrily now. He goes to his office door and tosses it open. “Agent Whiskey, get your partner out of here.” He points to the open door. “Do not come back. Otherwise, I’ll put you both in cuffs.”

“ _ Let’s go _ !” Jack says harshly, trying to catch her arm as it winds up to swing. But he misses by millimeters.

Swinging hard, Malibu lands her fist into the office window to the left of this asshole’s head, the glass cracking out into a circular web shape from where her hand connected.

“Fuckin' Christ!” Her now extremely angered partner snatches her up by the back of her coat, practically dragging her from the office and then the building, looking as if he’s a parent needing to discipline his unruly child. He tosses her away from him angrily once they reach the sidewalk. “What in Sam fuckin' hell is wrong with ya?! What the fuck was that?” He looks at the girl staring up at him, anger and tears on her face, body shaking violently. He puts his hands on his hips, waiting for her to speak. “Well? Ya wanna explain?” But he’s met with more silence. “For Christ’s sake. Let’s go.” He heads over to his Ford Bronco parked on the curb, the top down in the California weather that’s nicer than what they left behind in Kentucky.

Malibu climbs into the passenger seat of his Bronco, pulling the door shut. She keeps silent the entire drive back to the hotel lodging that Statesman is paying for while they’re in town investigating. The shadow of the extremely tall, five-star hotel overtakes them as Jack drives into the parking garage under the building. “If they had just…  _ listened  _ to him.” She says, her voice barely heard over the engine of the Ford as it rumbles through the mostly empty underground level of concrete storage. “If they had listened when those people were after him…”

Jack parks in one of the spots close to the elevator that will take them up to the lobby of the hotel. “What are ya sayin’, baby doll?” He asks, leaning his arm on the back of the front seat as he looks at her.

Malibu looks up at him finally, feeling comfortable enough to, now that he’s no longer upset with her. She can tell he’s mellowed out by the way he dishes a pet name at her. Any other man dropping pet names on her as often as he does and she would twist their arm around behind them quicker than they could say  _ ‘What’s your sign?’ _ . The level of ease she has with him, something that is the complete opposite from her experience she’s had with men before, almost frightens her. “I think the people who were after my father are the same ones looking for me…” She says softly. "And I'm worried, Jack…” Her fingers curl onto his knee, holding onto it as she subconsciously searches for comfort in the warmth radiating from underneath the blue jeans her companion dons.

“I know you’re worried, baby doll.” Jack moves the hand on the back of her seat to rest on the base of her neck where it meets her spine, thick and warm fingers curling into her skin, not knowing that he ignites a flaring blaze inside her soul. Whether it be his intense heat or being touched with a protective, rather than possessive, hand, she can feel the flames licking higher. “But ya ain’t gotta have any stress. We’re gonna find these bastards and that’ll be the end of it. Ya understand?”

She studies his face closely. The way the corner of his mouth lifts when he speaks, causing his mustache to follow suit. The way his warm brown eyes contain a ripple of determination. “Jack.. how do you know that-”

“Malibu.”

She blinks in surprise at this. He has never used her agent name when speaking to her directly before. At least not like this. Only pet names and terms of endearment.  **_Clearly_ ** , she thinks,  **_he must mean business._ **

“Now I want ya to listen and listen good, little one. I’m not lettin’  _ anything  _ happen to ya.” He says, eyes searching hers as he leans close, looking for a sign that she understands. At her tiny nod, he continues. “If they want ya, they’re gon’ have to go through me first.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first story I'm posting on this website. thanks for reading and giving my work a shot!


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